Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > Dance of Pales
Dance of Pales
1 reviewAn idle wish to be a kid again is granted, but being young isn't always a change for the better.
1Moving
WE DO NOT GROW ABSOLUTELY, CHRONOLOGICALLY. WE GROW SOMETIMES IN ONE DIMENSION, AND NOT IN ANOTHER; UNEVENLY. WE GROW PARTIALLY. WE ARE RELATIVE. WE ARE MATURE IN ONE REALM, CHILDISH IN ANOTHER. THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE MINGLE AND PULL US BACKWARD, FORWARD, OR FIX US IN THE PRESENT. WE ARE MADE UP OF LAYERS, CELLS, CONSTELLATIONS.
~ ANAIS NIN
IT IS AN ILLUSION THAT YOUTH IS HAPPY, AN ILLUSION OF THOSE WHO HAVE LOST IT; BUT THE YOUNG KNOW THEY ARE WRETCHED FOR THEY ARE FULL OF THE TRUTHLESS IDEAL WHICH HAVE BEEN INSTILLED INTO THEM, AND EACH TIME THEY COME IN CONTACT WITH THE REAL, THEY ARE BRUISED AND WOUNDED.
~W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM (1874 - 1965), 'OF HUMAN BONDAGE', 1915
There were people who genuinely thought he couldn’t feel regret, that he was so wrapped up in his own ego that wrongs lain on others meant nothing to him. Flawed he was, but not even he could achieve that feat. With every passing day it tightened around his heart, razor wire sharp. There were days he stayed locked in his room from one sunrise to the next, knees pulled up to his chest, remembering. So many years… so many memories. So many lost opportunities. And always that part of him that refused to allow him to attempt a proper reconciliation. Because he just couldn’t.
All he wanted now was to start over. To do it all again, and maybe, just maybe, this time do it right. He wanted to be young again. He wanted his friends around him again, laughing and smiling. And he wanted it without… without the problems. Without the battles and struggles that didn’t need to be. Wouldn’t it have been fun if they’d actually grown up together? Maybe then… maybe then it wouldn’t have all come apart. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been such a… Yeah, that was how he wished it coulda been.
Closing his eyes, Axl felt sleep begin to overtake him for the first time in a few days. He didn’t fight it, allowing Morpheus to pull him down into quiet darkness as the birds began to sing outside.
In the dream he was surrounded by those who cared, and had cared for him. One by one they turned away, vanishing into wisps of scented smoke as he reached to stop him until only one person was left before him. Izzy stared at him with dark eyes that lacked the usual shy warmth he’d always seen in their depths, shaking his head slowly. Then he, too, was gone.
Waking from the dream this time felt unnatural, his body disconnected from his mind. The spark of irrational panic that usually raced through his body when he woke into sleep paralysis was absent, leaving him with just a sensation that felt more like an acid trip than anything else. It was only once he relaxed that he felt himself move, pushing back the heavy blankets from his body – not his blankets – and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Something else controlled the hand that ran through his sleep-tangled hair. His body was an automaton as it moved, jerkily, towards the bathroom.
The image in the mirror shocked him as eyes, not his but his all the same, darted towards the beveled glass. Youth stared back at him. A teenaged version of himself fumbled with the faucet, splashed water on his face. The boy whose face he owned long ago was perhaps sixteen, maybe younger, but held a look in his eyes of drugged pain. Axl knew the look of heavy sedation well.
A knock at the bathroom door, and his body turned its head slowly, facing the man standing there. He didn’t recognize him as anyone in his life, or who’d ever been in his life, but there was a sense of comfort that came over him as he stumbled forward, towards him. When his foot caught on the carpet, the man rushed forward to catch him before he ended up a bruised heap on the cold tile. Was this his father? No… The man didn’t look a bit like him. Stepfather…? No, that wasn’t right, either… Who was he…?
The man practically carried him back to his bed and tucked him in. It was nice, the gesture. When a pill was pressed into one palm, a glass of water into the other, he knew why he felt so… wrong. Librium. Not even Valium. He was being seriously tranqued for something… Remembering his face in the mirror, the expression of some fresh trauma that the drugs were being used to control, he knew that in whatever way his idle wish had been granted, things weren’t as happy as he hoped he’d be.
The pill went down easily and he lay back in bed again, feeling himself succumb to the drug. He wasn’t floating… It didn’t feel like the odd euphoria that usually came with benzos. He was able to feel himself gradually. The soft sheets of the bed, the warmth of his pajamas… and at the same time he couldn’t feel as much of himself. Memories entered his consciousness that weren’t part of it before. A pair of teenage runaways running wild on the streets of LA, hooking up with other miscreants… As he melted fully into his new consciousness, Axl promised himself that this time… this time he’d…
~ ANAIS NIN
IT IS AN ILLUSION THAT YOUTH IS HAPPY, AN ILLUSION OF THOSE WHO HAVE LOST IT; BUT THE YOUNG KNOW THEY ARE WRETCHED FOR THEY ARE FULL OF THE TRUTHLESS IDEAL WHICH HAVE BEEN INSTILLED INTO THEM, AND EACH TIME THEY COME IN CONTACT WITH THE REAL, THEY ARE BRUISED AND WOUNDED.
~W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM (1874 - 1965), 'OF HUMAN BONDAGE', 1915
There were people who genuinely thought he couldn’t feel regret, that he was so wrapped up in his own ego that wrongs lain on others meant nothing to him. Flawed he was, but not even he could achieve that feat. With every passing day it tightened around his heart, razor wire sharp. There were days he stayed locked in his room from one sunrise to the next, knees pulled up to his chest, remembering. So many years… so many memories. So many lost opportunities. And always that part of him that refused to allow him to attempt a proper reconciliation. Because he just couldn’t.
All he wanted now was to start over. To do it all again, and maybe, just maybe, this time do it right. He wanted to be young again. He wanted his friends around him again, laughing and smiling. And he wanted it without… without the problems. Without the battles and struggles that didn’t need to be. Wouldn’t it have been fun if they’d actually grown up together? Maybe then… maybe then it wouldn’t have all come apart. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been such a… Yeah, that was how he wished it coulda been.
Closing his eyes, Axl felt sleep begin to overtake him for the first time in a few days. He didn’t fight it, allowing Morpheus to pull him down into quiet darkness as the birds began to sing outside.
In the dream he was surrounded by those who cared, and had cared for him. One by one they turned away, vanishing into wisps of scented smoke as he reached to stop him until only one person was left before him. Izzy stared at him with dark eyes that lacked the usual shy warmth he’d always seen in their depths, shaking his head slowly. Then he, too, was gone.
Waking from the dream this time felt unnatural, his body disconnected from his mind. The spark of irrational panic that usually raced through his body when he woke into sleep paralysis was absent, leaving him with just a sensation that felt more like an acid trip than anything else. It was only once he relaxed that he felt himself move, pushing back the heavy blankets from his body – not his blankets – and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Something else controlled the hand that ran through his sleep-tangled hair. His body was an automaton as it moved, jerkily, towards the bathroom.
The image in the mirror shocked him as eyes, not his but his all the same, darted towards the beveled glass. Youth stared back at him. A teenaged version of himself fumbled with the faucet, splashed water on his face. The boy whose face he owned long ago was perhaps sixteen, maybe younger, but held a look in his eyes of drugged pain. Axl knew the look of heavy sedation well.
A knock at the bathroom door, and his body turned its head slowly, facing the man standing there. He didn’t recognize him as anyone in his life, or who’d ever been in his life, but there was a sense of comfort that came over him as he stumbled forward, towards him. When his foot caught on the carpet, the man rushed forward to catch him before he ended up a bruised heap on the cold tile. Was this his father? No… The man didn’t look a bit like him. Stepfather…? No, that wasn’t right, either… Who was he…?
The man practically carried him back to his bed and tucked him in. It was nice, the gesture. When a pill was pressed into one palm, a glass of water into the other, he knew why he felt so… wrong. Librium. Not even Valium. He was being seriously tranqued for something… Remembering his face in the mirror, the expression of some fresh trauma that the drugs were being used to control, he knew that in whatever way his idle wish had been granted, things weren’t as happy as he hoped he’d be.
The pill went down easily and he lay back in bed again, feeling himself succumb to the drug. He wasn’t floating… It didn’t feel like the odd euphoria that usually came with benzos. He was able to feel himself gradually. The soft sheets of the bed, the warmth of his pajamas… and at the same time he couldn’t feel as much of himself. Memories entered his consciousness that weren’t part of it before. A pair of teenage runaways running wild on the streets of LA, hooking up with other miscreants… As he melted fully into his new consciousness, Axl promised himself that this time… this time he’d…
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